Miracle Didn’t Go To The Wrong Address
A story on the power of miracles.
In the small bathroom, she shares with the mops and cleaning supplies, Cynthia Wilson sat in the darkness, loads the 9mm as her father taught her. She points the gun to her head, tears flowing, her body shivering from the pangs of hunger, as she hadn’t eaten all day, saying, “Well God, if you won’t get me out of hell, this 9mm will.” A loud crash pulls her thoughts back into the pain and reality of her life. Wiping her tears with the back of her left hand, nodding as her thoughts dipped into the direction of the noise, she said to herself, “They are fighting again.”
More loud sounds demand her attention, then a scream and what seems to be a gunshot.
Fear propels her up, the gun falling from her hand. She peeks out, shock pulled her back in. A masked man dress in black held on to her Aunt’s hair, his gun pointed to her head, blood running from her nose and mouth. She was begging for her life. Easing back into the bathroom, standing up on the toilet seat still in the darkness, she saw her two cousins laying on the floor, their faces away from her. They weren’t moving!
Her hand reaches out for the switch to turn the light on to find her 9mm, fear and instincts stop her as a voice said, ‘they don’t know you are here.’ ‘Damn’ she said softly. Feeling her way on the floor…
